


gold trans am

by b_o_i



Category: Devilman (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Blow Jobs in a Car, Car Sex, M/M, Semi-Public Sex, mild praise kink idk dont @ me, who knows when this is set
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 13:35:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13976199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/b_o_i/pseuds/b_o_i
Summary: alternate title: akira fucks ryo in his very expensive car





	gold trans am

**Author's Note:**

> hi devilman crybaby wrecked my whole entire ass so im coping. rushed set up bc we’re all just here for the porn

 

It happens on a school night, driving home from their latest fight with their monster-of-the-week in Ryo’s very expensive car he drives around without a license to go find and then fight demons. Akira doesn’t ever bring up these things; that’s just how Ryo is. 

He thinks tensions are probably running higher than usual, Ryo’s knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the steering wheel. They get to a long stretch of road just before the highway, and Ryo pulls over. Puts the car in park sharply and sits there for a moment.

“Are you okay?” Akira asks after a moment, leaning towards him. Ryo glances over at him.

“Yes, I’m fine,” he says. “You almost got hurt, though.”

Akira blinks, “I almost get hurt every day. I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Ryo says. And then, “I thought I was better prepared for this one. I wasn’t. Sorry.”

“Hey, Ryo, you don’t have to be sorry about anything. I’m fine.”

Ryo looks at him for real, then, bright blue eyes locked onto his. The air is heavy, broken only by whatever soft song is playing on the radio. Akira finds himself holding his breath under Ryo’s gaze. He’s looking at him hard, scanning his face like he searching for something.   
  
Whatever it is, he must find it, because then he’s leaning in and kissing him with his soft soft lips and he’s scrambling gracefully—so maybe scrambling isn’t the right word, something clumsy that Akira would do, because Ryo is not clumsy—out of his seat and throwing a leg over Akira so he’s kneeling, a knee on either side of him.    
  
Akira grips his hips to keep him steady, instinct taking over any self-consciousness, and pulls his down and into his lap. Which is a mistake, because now he can feel Ryo’s crotch pressing into his own, only the fabric of their pants keeping them apart. Akira wasn’t even that hard before, but he is now, his stupid teenager-meets-demon hair trigger libido kicking into overdrive at the feeling of a warm body pressed against his dick. Of Ryo’s warm body, Ryo who’s smart and pretty and has his soft hands on Akira’s shoulders.    
  
He pulls back to breathe, heart beating a little quicker at the sight of his friend breathing just as heavily, cheeks flushed just a little.    
  
“Ryo,” he says, and then stops, because he doesn’t know what else to say. The radio is still playing, some American song that sounds old but tasteful. He feels Ryo’s bony knee digging into his right side where it’s jammed between Akira and the door, and doesn’t think that could possibly be comfortable. Ryo doesn’t seem uncomfortable, though, looking at him with his eyes blown wide.    
  
Akira leans in to kiss him, this time, wants to see if he can get that flush darker, if it’ll spread down to his neck. Ryo’s mouth is warm and wet and he tastes like strawberry smoothie and nicotine from the cigarette he stopped to smoke. Ryo’s hands are in his hair, now, cold, and Akira shivers at the feeling. He dips down to kiss Ryo’s sharp jawline, his ear, his neck, feeling something hot and proud in his stomach when Ryo’s legs clench around him. It’s so hard to get reactions out of him; he wants to draw out as many as possible.    
  
Ryo rocks down a little bit, and Akira gasps into his mouth, pulls him closer against his groin and his chest and licks into his perfect little mouth. His hair is soft, his face is soft, his hips are bony and small.    
  
Ryo is so small, now—or Akira’s just gotten bigger, he supposes. He’s bigger than him even when he’s not in his devil form; his new body is taller and wider and his hands can curl halfway around Ryo’s little waist. He wonders if his finger tips would touch if he squeezed hard enough.    
  
“Akira,” Ryo is saying, drawing him out of his thoughts. Akira looks up, Ryo’s bright blue eyes laser-focused. Akira flushes under his gaze. He’s bigger, now, but Ryo’s eyes on him still make him feel small.    
  
“Yeah?” He asks, throat dry.    
  
Ryo licks his bottom lip a little. “You can touch me, if you want. I’m not going to break.”   
  
“Are you sure?” He asks, even as he has to dig his nails into the fabric of Ryo’s pants to keep them from moving. He wants to touch so bad, the devil in him yelling for it.    
  
“Yeah,” Ryo says, mouth tilting up into a small smile so pretty it steals Akira’s breath away. “I’m sure.”   
  
Akira kisses him again, just because he can, flipping his huge jacket open and slipping his hands up Ryo’s shirt. The skin of his back is warm and smooth and Akira could count each notch of his spine if he wanted to. He thinks about kissing them, Ryo spread out on some bed underneath him, and groans into the skin of his cheek. Ryo’s little hands grab at Akira’s shirt, feeling the slope of his—well, his abs, since he has those, now, a contrast between Ryo’s soft, flat stomach.    
  
Akira rucks his shirt up, thumbs rubbing over his nipples, and Ryo, for the first time, gasps. “Akira,” he says.    
  
“Yeah?” Akira answers, but Ryo doesn’t reply, making this little aborted movement like he wants to push his chest forwards into Akira’s hands but is holding himself back for some reason. Akira knows Ryo has always been shy. So he does it for him, bracing a big hand on the small of his friend’s back so he can’t jerk away and running his tongue over a hardened bud.    
  
Ryo makes that same little gasping sound. Akira bites down lightly, and Ryo says, “Akira,” again, like something holy.    
  
“Sensitive,” Akira says into Ryo’s chest instead of  _ never stop saying my name like that, _ or something stupid.    
  
“Shut up,” Ryo says, looking annoyed and grumpy and more flustered than Akira’s ever seen. “Do you wanna fuck me, or not?”   
  
Akira’s brain shuts off for a few seconds there. When it fizzles back to life, Ryo is still looking down at him, waiting for an answer.    
  
“What?” He asks.    
  
“Do you wanna fuck me?”    
  
“I mean—well, I mean—“   
  
“It’s a yes or no question.”   
  
“Yes,” Akira says before he can change his mind. “Yes.”    
  
Ryo smiles at him again, looking pleased, and then slides back and off of Akira’s lap. Which—kind of directly opposes the ‘do you want to fuck me’ question. Akira nearly whines, craving Ryo’s heat, before Ryo pulls the lever on the side of the seat to push it back and settles on his knees between Akira’s legs. He reaches for Akira’s zipper and oh, okay. This works. He can definitely get on board with this.    
  
The sound of his zipper being pulled down is loud in the heavy air of the car, caught in that moment of silence in between songs. A new song starts, this one loud enough to catch the sound Akira makes when Ryo pulls his dick out. The feeling of Ryo’s little hand on his—okay his dick isn’t  _ massive  _ massive, but it’s bigger than average, especially after his change. Size doesn’t change the fact that Ryo’s hand on his dick has his heart racing, and he almost loses it right there when Ryo licks at the head like a kitten. A fucking kitten. He makes an interested sort of sound that has Akira torn between burying his face in his hands and burying his dick down Ryo’s throat.    
  
Ryo makes the choice for him, dragging his tongue up the side of his cock and taking him in his mouth. Akira digs a hand into his silky hair and holds on tight. Ryo’s mouth is small, too, and he can’t fit more than half in his mouth, but he makes up for it with his fucking face, and the way he looks with a mouthful of Akira’s cock, lips stretched around him. He strokes the base of Akira’s cock in time with the bobs of his head.    
  
“God,” Akira says breathlessly; Ryo opens his eyes and gazes up at him through his eyelashes, like he’s asking a question but doesn’t wanna take his mouth off Akira’s dick to do it. God, that’s hot. “God, that’s hot,” he says, because he has no brain to mouth filter when there’s a mouth on his dick, “You’re so hot, Ryo. Your mouth is so—“   
  
“Hot?” Ryo fills in, voice amused and scratchy from gagging around Akira, and that’s what does it.   
  
“Yeah,” Akira agrees, and then comes. Most of it makes it into Ryo’s mouth, somehow, and the rest paint his cheek and neck and Ryo has to close one of his eyes before it can blind him.    
  
“Shit, sorry,” Akira says, even though he’s really not, because Ryo looks annoyed wiping Akira’s cum off of his face and out of his eye, but he also looks really fucking hot.    
  
“It’s fine,” Ryo grumbles, and then he’s back in Akira’s lap, the fabric of his long jacket brushing over Akira’s cock; he twitches in overstimulation, but he knows he’ll be good to go again in a few minutes. Demon stuff.    
  
“You still wanna fuck me?” He asks, like Akira would somehow say no.   
  
“Yeah,” he says anyways.    
  
“You’ll have to get me ready then,” Ryo says, unzipping his own pants.    
  
Akira licks the drying come from Ryo’s neck and says, “Yeah, of course,” even though he’s only seen it very rarely done in porn.    
  
He watches Ryo pull his pristine white pants down until their bunched around his pale thighs. His cock is long and hard and dripping. Akira feels heat pool in the pit of his stomach again; he did that. He made Ryo hard like that.    
  
“I don’t have anything here, unfortunately, so we’re just gonna have to make do.”   
  
Akira nods along with him, even though he’s not sure what that means, dragging his hands up and down his friend’s soft thighs, entranced by the contrast of his tanned skin against pale pale pale. Ryo lifts one of Akira’s hands, and sucks his first three fingers into his warm mouth. Akira shortcircuts.    
  
“What—?”    
  
“You’re getting me ready,” Ryo reminds him, endlessly patient, “You can’t shove that huge thing into me dry.”    
  
“Right,” Akira says, flushing all the way down to his cock, which is, of course, rock hard again.    
  
After Ryo is done getting his fingers wet, he guides Akira’s hand up the back of his jacket to the curve of his ass.    
  
“Be careful,” Ryo says, “You have to start with one.”    
  
One finger. Akira nods, things clicking into place, and lets his pointer finger circle Ryo’s hole lightly. Ryo gasps softly at the feel of it, grasping at Akira’s shoulders. His first finger sinks in smoothly—Akira moans at the feel of it, because inside Ryo is tight and hot and Akira wants his cock in there immediately. Instead of doing  _ that _ , fucking demon, he pulls his finger slowly back out and thrusts back in. Ryo makes a soft sound that has Akira’s blood pumping.    
  
A few minutes and Ryo tells him to add a second finger. Akira does, slowly, his other hand tracing patterns on Ryo’s thigh, mouthing at the curve of his neck.    
  
“Akira,” Ryo huffs, “Hurry up.”   
  
“I don’t wanna hurt you”.   
  
“Go faster,” he insists, and when Akira doesn’t, he reaches back and slaps his hand out of the way.    
  
_ What the hell, _ he starts to ask, but the question dies in his throat when Ryo sucks his own long fingers into his mouth, red against white, and reaches behind him to shove them into his ass.    
  
It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but it  _ is _ . Ryo moves faster than Akira did; he can hear the frantic sounds, Ryo’s hand digging into Akira’s shoulder, his eyes shut tight in concentration, eyebrows drawn tight together in something desperate. He’s moving like he can’t reach what he wants to reach, making these little fucking sounds with every thrust of his fingers. He’s beautiful.

“You’re beautiful,” Akira breathes. Ryo’s eyes snap open, his pupils blown wide, the flush on his cheeks spreading down his neck and collarbones.

“I’m ready,” he says.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,  _ jesus _ ,” Ryo snaps. Akira laughs a little, because Ryo looks a lot of things right now, but intimidating is not one of them.

Ryo rucks up the bottom of his jacket like Akira’s seen girls do with their dresses when they wanna get their legs wet at the beach, and doesn’t take it off when he reaches around to grab Akira’s dick. Which means he’s not gonna take it off, when Akira wants to see everything Ryo has to offer, wants to feel it and taste it. He doesn’t have time to file a complaint, though, because Ryo is digging his nails into Akira’s arm and moaning all breathy and quiet as he sinks down onto Akira’s cock. He holds his hips tight to keep him upright, squeezing just a little.

“Shit,  _ Akira,” _ Ryo gasps into the hot, very expensive air of the car. Akira would do anything to hear him say his name like that again, Ryo hot and tight around him.

Akira kisses him again, something hotter and heavier than before, all teeth and spit, as Ryo lifts himself up on shaky knees and rides him fast and hard in his expensive ass car that probably costs more than the Makimura’s whole house. 

Ryo gets a hand in Akira’s hair, Akira gets his mouth on Ryo’s chest, biting and sucking and drinking up the quiet sounds he makes.

“You’re so pretty,” he’s saying mindlessly, caught somewhere between the feeling of Ryo’s teeth along his jaw and the way the seat creaks with every thrust up, “ _ God _ , you’re so pretty. You’re so so pretty and smart and you look so good and I wanna do this all the time, I wanna have you on my dick all the  _ time, god _ , look at you,  _ fuck _ .”

Ryo makes a helpless noise and clenches down around him, shaking through his orgasm. Vaguely, Akira notices that yes, if he squeezes tight enough around Ryo’s little waist, his fingertips just barely,  _ barely _ touch. Akira comes again. Inside of Ryo and his thighs and all over the expensive leather seat. Fuck.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “Sorry.”

Ryo doesn’t seem to register his words for a moment, his face buried in Akira’s shoulder, catching his breath. 

“It’s fine,” he says after a long moment, peeling himself from Akira’s chest. He eases himself off of Akira’s cock, come dripping down his thighs and onto his very nice pants. Akira winces. “I’ll have Jenny take it to the carwash or get a new one or something.”

Ryo might get a new car because Akira jizzed all over this one. The thought shouldn’t be satisfying at all, but it is, because he jizzed all over Ryo, too, and he’ll have to wash his very nice clothes because of it, and there will be bruises on his hips and probably all over his chest and his throat and he’ll think of Akira every time he sees them. 

Fucking demons. Or maybe that’s just Akira being a fucking weirdo; it all kind of blends together.

He watches Ryo pull his pants back up and smooth his shirt out and start the car again. His hair is still a mess, and his lips are bitten bright red and kiss-swollen. God, he’s gorgeous.

Akira does his best to straighten himself out too, even though he knows he’s still gonna have to walk into the Makimura’s looking like he just fucked his best friend in his very expensive car. It’s the thought that counts.

Ryo drops him off in front of the house like he always does. Akira is pretty sure Tare is peering out the window again to get a look at Akira’s Rich Friend’s Car, but he tries not to care.

“Thanks for the ride,” Akira says when Ryo rolls his window down.

Ryo reaches out to fix his collar, and smiles at him. “No problem,” he says. Akira is hit with the inexplicable urge to kiss him again, but Ryo is gone before he can make up his mind about it.

Nobody asks him if he had sex with his rich friend when he walks into the house, but he doesn’t miss the way Tare giggles into his hand. Fucking demons.

 


End file.
